The Suggestion Box (Volume 1)

Part 1: A Balloon and A Butterfly (4)

Based on the following suggestions:

Names: Ignatz Ratzkewatski, Butterfly Huffingtree, Horatio Whistlestop
Places: Londonshire, Devonshire, an abandoned castle in Scotland
Times: 7PM June 30th, Sunset, late 1700's
Objects: Rope and hot air balloon

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The voyage to Edinburgh was thus far the worst experience of Horatio Whistlestop's life. He decided he would far rather face the hazing of the Exeter schoolboys all over again as a grown man than ride in a carriage with a madwoman and her cousin up to what could potentially culminate in his doom. He sat next to the window and tried not to think of the hot porridge getting hoisted back up his throat with every jostle of the carriage. Why had he ever agreed to such a foolish thing? It was too late to turn back now.

Across from him, Ignatz and Butterfly were much more enthusiastic about their destination. A pleasant night's sleep had done Ignatz a world of good; he smiled, laughed, and chatted with his cousin while the coach rolled northward to Scotland. Ignatz was by no means calloused to the intense discomfort of his friend, but what could he do about it? There was no help to be had if Horatio resisted all attempts at diversion, as he had done so far.

"So tell me, Rate," Ignatz began making small conversation, "how is the general store business in Devon?"

Horatio didn't want to remove his forehead from the cool glass, but he did, to answer his friend. "Well enough," he moaned. "Our sales are pretty consistent, and the merchandise moves smoothly."
"Any trouble with the clerks? I heard some store clerks can be downright devious in their sales tactics."

"Oh, aye!" cried Butterfly. "Why, the milliner down on Gracechurch Street fairly throost a dress inta my 'ands, even tho' I'd naever tried it nor wanted it in the farst place!"

Horatio sighed and shifted his position to face his friend more fully. "Not at my store; our policy is one of sincerity and accommodation; we go by the customer's needs, heed their requests in future orders, and do not exceed sales just for the sake of profit." At last, Horatio found something to smile at as he chuckled, "The irony is, this sort of customer service generates more profit than forcing the goods on the public-and those customers who come in and buy are always leaving to recommend my store to their friends, which means more merchandise is sold to more people, as well."

"Why, Rate Whistlestop," Ignatz cried, clapping his hands with mirth, "how clever of you! I say, that's ingenious!"

"If what y'say is true," Butterfly agreed, "I think I'd like ta coom ta yer store mysel' and buy what I likes there!"
Ignatz tilted his dark, curly head at his cousin. "What? You'd travel all the way to Devon to do your shopping?"

"O' course, Iggy!" Butterfly responded. "A gerl wants ta be treated a sartin way when she goes oot; it daen't matter where she's got ta go, sae long as the clerks treat 'er right, and no' like another package ta be assembled as pleases them!"

Once again, Horatio was treated to a glimpse of a girl so unlike the Butterfly he'd been resigning himself to that he wasn't sure if he really knew her at all. What would a scruffy highland "gerl" know of London high-society dress shops? He recalled what Ignatz had told him, about giving Butterfly a chance. Perhaps he was seeing the layers of the childish first impression falling away, and here at last was the true Butterfly Huffingtree that people rarely saw, because they didn't give such a rowdy girl the second chance she needed.
As was beginning to occur with much more regularity of late, Butterfly's maturity faded as soon as they crossed into Scotland. She was "Wee Lassie" once more, bouncing in her seat and clapping her hands in anticipation. Verily, Horatio found that her change of attitude only served to remind him of why exactly they were on this journey in the first place, and he silently cursed the burst of ill-placed goodwill that had prompted him to make such a rash decision.
"Gordon O'Grady lives on a hill outside the city," she informed Ignatz, who relayed her directions to the driver. "Ye cain't miss 'is 'oose, 'tis visible from near anywhere in town. Won't 'e be surprised to see us?" She clapped her hands, and her mound of curls jiggled as she laughed.
Ignatz raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever met the man, Butterfly?"
"Oh, bless yer 'eart, no, coosin!" she cried. "I've only heard tell of 'im. I've naever seen 'is balloon; naeboddy has."
Horatio felt the dread turn his stomach into knots. What was he getting himself into? He plastered his face against the window once more. From that point on, he didn't say another word. Ignatz and Butterfly chatted brightly about their upcoming voyage, but Horatio could not bring himself to join them. He hated heights, and he hated the idea of entrusting himself to a situation wherein his safety was not totally guaranteed.